


Burn so Bright

by VenatorNoctis



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dragonfucking, F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenatorNoctis/pseuds/VenatorNoctis





	Burn so Bright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JackOfNone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackOfNone/gifts).

The Dravanian night is beautiful, the air still warm and the colors of the landscape below revealing themselves to Ysayle's senses. Her heart thunders in her breast as the summoned chocobo carries her northward, following the Whilom River toward the edifice in the distance. The smoke of her new brethren's bonfire clings to her clothes and the taste of their sacrament is copper on her tongue. They accepted her, invited her to share their rituals, listened to her when she recounted her visions and recognized their truth. She's never had a place to belong among mortals that felt this right—and no wonder that it was through the gift of Dravanian blood that such connection was possible.

Ysayle nudges her chocobo with her knees and the bird stoops, wheeling down toward the courtyard of Anyx Trine. Perhaps one night Ysayle's own wings will carry her through the skies, her form malleable as that of the man she met tonight who could take on a dragon's shape at will. Perhaps then the others at Anyx Trine will see her as she sees them. Perhaps they'll acknowledge her longing.

The chocobo alights by the summoning statue and Ysayle dismounts; the bird takes off as soon as her boots hit the ground, no doubt nervous about the scents of the dragons resting in and around the tower. A beast, no matter how well trained, can't be expected to understand the restraint of the Dravanians.

Ysayle takes the tower steps two at a time, her feet taking their cue from the lightness of her heart. On the second story she finds the one she sought, the brightest presence in the Anyx Trine coterie, white scales reflecting moonlight and eyes bright in the dark.

"Welcome back, little one," Vidofnir says, and the warm rumbling timbre of her voice has always put a pleasant shiver down Ysayle's spine, but now her new senses make more of those tones. There's affection in Vidofnir's words, but there's _hunger_ in her voice. There is a part of the dragons' tongue that corresponds to mortal words, and there is another part that does not, and in that latter part Ysayle now hears a desire she'd thought might never be reciprocated. "Your visit with the dissidents has been fruitful, I take it."

"It was wonderful," Ysayle says. She walks closer, basking in Vidofnir's presence, her noble bearing, the dusty scent of her scales. "If ever there were mortals who might understand my dream, these are they." She breathes in deep, and with her own senses altered by the sacred sharing of blood she can feel her body responding simply to the feel of Vidofnir's nearness. "But most precious of all, they shared with me the ability to perceive as you do."

"As I do?" Vidofnir repeats, her neck coiling gracefully as she brings her head down to Ysayle's level. The undertones that Ysayle couldn't hear before carry doubt. "That is much to ask of mortal senses."

Ysayle reaches up to lay her hands on either side of Vidofnir's strong jaw, cupping her great dragon head between frail mortal hands. "But it is a wonder to experience," she says. "How long have you felt the same desire that I have?"

Vidofnir stiffens, but she doesn't actually pull away, nor does she deny it. Her eyes glow as she studies Ysayle. "You are but a mortal," she says.

"Mortals are more capable than you give us credit for," Ysayle says gently. "Did your own broodsire not discover the same?"

"Your lives are so brief, but you burn so bright," Vidofnir says. The warmth in her voice is like the comfort of a bonfire. Her tongue slips out between the jagged rows of her fangs, just far enough for the tip to stroke Ysayle's face. Tasting her. Measuring her. 

Ysayle turns her head to meet that caress with her own mouth, lips parting to stroke Vidofnir's tongue with her own. Vidofnir rumbles, the sound rising from deep in her chest, and the pleasure in that sound suffuses all of Ysayle's senses. Her skin prickles with it, as though scales could break the surface of her skin at any moment and transform her into a form as noble and beautiful as the one before her.

Vidofnir lowers her head to nuzzle against Ysayle, slowly, ever so careful of her fangs and horns. "Ah, little one," she says, and Ysayle realizes that the word she's actually using is not the same one she would use for a dragonet, but closer to _treasure_. "I fear my touch would bring you more pain than pleasure. I know not how we are meant to come together thus."

Truthfully, Ysayle doesn't know either; the tales of Saint Shiva certainly never went into such lascivious detail, and her own visions of Hraesvelgr's past showed nothing of that sort of intimacy. But she will not be daunted so easily.

"We'll learn together," she declares. She starts to unbutton her coat, her fingers clumsy on the buttons in her haste. "We know how to be kind to each other, and—and what it is to desire touch. Surely that's enough for a beginning."

"Both brave and lovely," Vidofnir says as Ysayle lets her coat fall. Her claws tap against the stone as if she wants to move.

But she doesn't move, not until Ysayle has stripped out of all of her clothes to stand bare before her. The night is still warm, and Vidofnir's body radiates its own gentle warmth, but Ysayle's nipples still harden as she stands exposed before the soft glow of Vidofnir's gaze. She feels like she should have something to say, some teasing invitation, but instead she's tongue-tied before the power of the dragon before her.

Vidofnir shifts, her wings briefly mantling behind her as she slides forward. She curls around Ysayle, a broad and solid presence, and swings her head down to explore. "So sweet," she rumbles as she breathes in. She licks a path from Ysayle's belly up between her breasts. "So soft."

"Please," Ysayle whispers, and isn't sure how to continue. Her heart pounds and her skin aches for touch.

"Be at ease, little one," Vidofnir says. She nudges Ysayle backward, into the warm curve of her haunches, and the pebbly texture of her scales feels breathtaking against Ysayle's bare skin. "Would you have me explore?"

Ysayle leans back, pressing her palms against Vidofnir's warm skin, widening her stance to offer herself up. "Yes," she says. "Yes."

Vidofnir makes another low, sweet sound, and this time it vibrates right through Ysayle's back and into the core of her. Vidofnir's tongue extends again to taste her skin, trailing over the curves of her body, smooth and hot. When it flicks over one nipple, Ysayle's breath catches in her throat and her back arches toward the touch. Vidofnir does it again and Ysayle croons wordlessly as pleasure arcs through her body and down to her clit. Vidofnir hums. "I see," she says.

She explores other places, too—her touch to one armpit makes Ysayle squirm and gasp out ticklish laughter—but keeps coming back to Ysayle's nipples, teasing them until Ysayle is squirming and her thighs feel slick.

"Please, more," Ysayle manages at last, spreading her legs wider, arching her hips up in a plea. "Touch me there."

"Need looks so good on you," Vidofnir teases. She lowers her head to lick up the inside of Ysayle's thigh, her snout nudging against Ysayle's belly, her breath hot and dry. When she reaches Ysayle's cunt, parting the soft folds with careful strokes, Ysayle shudders all over: her most intimate, delicate flesh, being so lovingly treated by someone that most of her people would be fool enough to think an enemy. She can't imagine any mortal giving her pleasure to equal this.

Then Vidofnir's tongue finds the opening of her cunt, pressing experimentally into her—stretching her open, flexing and squirming deeper, and Ysayle moans, trembling with pleasure. It feels so big, and the way it moves is so unlike her own fingers, and Vidofnir's fangs press flat against her labia, a reminder of the threat and strangeness but _not_ a threat, just another giddy delight to make her blood sing. And then Vidofnir begins to hum, to _purr_, as her tongue thrusts and curls, and Ysayle cries out so loudly that it echoes off the tower walls. It's wonderful, the friction and fullness of heat, and she's babbling as she tries to tell Vidofnir so, how good it is and how much she wants more. Her whole body is tense, vibrating like a plucked string—and climax comes in a burst of white light behind her eyes, a blessing that floods through her limbs, overwhelming.

She can scarce keep her feet afterward. Vidofnir withdraws, licking her chops in obvious satisfaction, and gently pushes Ysayle down to curl up in the hollow between her belly and her thigh. "Beautiful indeed, little one."

Ysayle smiles, leaning her head against Vidofnir's belly and basking in the dreamy delight that follows climax. "Thank you," she says. Her fingertips trace patterns between the ridges of Vidofnir's scales. "I'm going to have my work cut out for me, living up to the standard you've set."

Vidofnir noses at her affectionately. "But you're ambitious enough to try, aren't you?"

What will it look like, feel like, to bring a dragon such pleasure? Ysayle is looking forward to discovering the answer. "I aim to begin as soon as I can command my limbs again."

"Then I am at your mercy," Vidofnir says, laughter in her voice, and this—this pleasure and camaraderie—it's worth everything, Ysayle thinks. She would give everything for this.


End file.
